One of the perks of having a studio at Spike Island, Bristol, is that – along with funds that we raise running bars at our annual open studios event – 10 percent of our rent is kept aside to fund studio holder projects. We run a quarterly bid for funds, offering two £250 opportunities each time. Studio holders pitch projects and vote for those they want to fund. It’s a constructive model for investing in the studio group as a whole and providing relatively small amounts of funding that can make an enormous difference to enabling artists projects to happen.
This time around I was lucky enough to win the support of my fellow studio holders for a bid to support travel to the Surface Arts and Rumpueng Residency this summer. This will also act as match funding for a GfA application I am currently battling with.
I am pleased to be participating in Revolve:R; a project in visual correspondence, by Sam Treadaway and Ricarda Vidal, in collaboration with a number of international artists, writers, and curators. Each piece will become a page in a book, both front and back – so its important to consider the reverse of each piece of work.
The above is my first submission to the project, a response to two works by Treadaway and Vidal around ideas of chance.
Last summer I took up running.
Similarly to an art practice, running is also a type of practice that takes a certain degree of commitment and sacrifice. It is an action undertaken often silently and alone. It can be exhilarating, painful and meditative. Taking place between locations, a space is only fleetingly occupied – but a new space for contemplation is opened up. The body is the runner’s enabler and the experience unfolds in space and time. A transformation to a person’s subjectivity can take place and the affects of this transformation can be carried forward in other guises and forms.
I am curious about the idea of somehow crossing the 2 practices.
I’ve just read Haruki Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running:
“You end up exhausted and spent, but later, in retrospect, you realize what it all was for. The parts fall into place, and you can see the whole picture and finally understand the role each individual part plays. The dawn comes, the sky grows light, and the colors and shapes of the roofs of houses, which you could only glimpse vaguely before, come into focus.”
“I just run. I run in a void. Or maybe I should put it the other way: I run in order to acquire a void. But as you might expect, an occasional thought will slip into this void. People’s minds can’t be a complete blank. Human beings’ emotions are not strong or consistent enough to sustain a vacuum. What I mean is, the kinds of thoughts and ideas that invade my emotions as I run remain subordinate to that void. Lacking content, they are just random thoughts that gather around that central void. The thoughts that occur to me while I’m running are like clouds in the sky. Clouds of all different sizes. They come and they go, while the sky remains the same sky as always. The clouds are mere guests in the sky that pass away and vanish, leaving behind the sky.”
